


Don't Leave

by Nurdles



Series: Jaime and Brienne ficlet prompts from tumblr. [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Marriage, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurdles/pseuds/Nurdles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was supposed to be a ficlet, but turned into more of a one-shot. The prompt was "Don't Leave" and this is post-canon. Angst and fluff ahoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Leave

Afternoon light flooded through the windows of the Royal Sept, guilding the steps and the dais, and setting Jaime’s hair aglow with the burnished blond of his youth. Draped in Lannister red, along with more gold worked into his clothing and jewelry than a man already in possession of a golden hand really needed, he was well aware of the way he shone upon that cursed stage, and of the ironic turn of fate that had changed him from Kingslayer to Ser Jaime the Just.

How he hated that name. The quaint alliteration, the blatant exaggeration of his deeds. He was the same man he’d been, so far as he could tell. Grey now in his beard and at his temple, and less inclined to violence, as a one-handed swordsman must be. He saw the irony of his new reputation as a diplomat, the thin veneer of respectability that he’d never found as a Kingsguard, and would have laughed had he found any humor in it.

To some, he would always be the Kingslayer. Of a certainty that was how Lord Selwyn Tarth saw him. Jaime glanced at him in the first row, bushy brows lowered over close-set blue eyes that reminded him not at all of Brienne. If she had her mother’s eyes, as Jaime suspected, it was clear that she owed the rest to Lord Selwyn.  Her magnificent height, but also the broad jaw, the large teeth that would have suited a horse better than a noble maiden. 

Brienne’s father glared up at him, his fleshy lips made more prominent by his expression, mouth pursed in disapproval even though he’d gotten everything he demanded. He reminded Jaime of a very pissed-off duck. A very tall, pissed-off duck.

The sound of a trumpet recalled Jaime’s attention to the sept’s doorway. Brienne entered, flanked by two guards. _As though she’d run_ , he thought bitterly. The guard was supposed to be one of honor, but the massive men dressed in the livery of Tarth had been hand-picked by Selwyn, who apparently wasn’t aware that once given, Brienne’s word was never to be broken.

The Kingslayer’s Whore, folk called her now. The name had spread, had become impossible for her to shake despite being untrue. It had reached Lord Selwyn, of course. _She is forever besmirched_ , Brienne’s father had written, along with his demand that the Lord of Casterly Rock set it right. Jaime had read the scroll in growing consternation no more than a fortnight ago. _No other man will have her_ , Selwyn wrote, _and so you must_.

Jaime had never thought to marry, and he knew how Brienne felt on the matter. She’d thought herself free of the burden, scarred and unmarriageable after three broken betrothals. She’d received a letter from her father that day as well, though Jaime wasn’t privy to its contents. He only knew that he’d found her weeping quietly, huddled beneath a great oak in the gardens, the letter crumpled in her fist.

As she hesitated now at the door of the sept, Jaime felt a surge of relief; her dress, expertly sewn and fitted, in a blue that matched her eyes, flattered her figure. He’d seen to that. Brienne had suffered enough humiliation for several wenches; she need not feel it on her wedding day. She raised her eyes to him, her face set and unsmiling as she took her first step on the journey that would end with her as Lady Lannister. 

Jaime’s heart lurched in his chest, the love he felt for her a familiar pang. _She doesn’t want this. I am the unwelcome suitor, the man she is being forced to submit to. I am her nightmare…_ He’d tried to hold her that day, under the oak. How many times had they’d huddled together, comforted each other when they were traveling companions? She when Lady Stoneheart had fallen to Oathkeeper, he when word of Cersei’s death reached him, weeks after the event and overheard in a tavern. They’d grown close, and he’d thought himself almost content with the quiet affection of her friendship. Almost. 

But on that day, the day of Lord Selwyn’s demand, everything changed. She’d rejected his comfort, rejected _him_ even as she’d agreed to his clumsy proposal. Brienne would not shirk her duty, and if Jaime would have her, she would bring no more shame to her father.

Jaime saw Lord Selwyn, turned to watch his daughter slowly pacing down the aisle to a fate she had wanted to avoid. _Curse you, you old bastard_. Brienne did not meet her father’s eyes, but she held to Jaime’s like a rope drawing her forward. He’d promised he would be a good husband to her, had apologized that she would have to marry a man who could not best her in battle. That had only made her cry harder, huddling against that damned tree for comfort rather than to him. 

Promising her no bedding ceremony had brought her a little relief, in the days to follow. Her distress whenever she saw him made all of the other things he wanted to tell her stick in his throat. How could he admit how selfish he was? That he not only welcomed this betrothal, but was almost glad for it, if it meant she would always be with him.

As she mounted the steps to stand beside him, Jaime could not help but smile at her. To him she looked lovely, her face and figure more dear to him than she could guess. And yes, he very much wanted to take her to bed. He didn't just want her though; he needed her like he needed his next breath. He never could figure out when he’d first become aware of his feelings for the wench.

They made it through the ceremony without incident. He draped her in his red cloak and kissed her for the first time, feeling like a maiden himself. Cheers went up in the Sept as they made their way down the aisle. 

Jaime seated Brienne to his left for the reception so that he could hold her hand tight beneath the table as they accepted the wishes of those important enough to have been invited. No banquet had ever seemed half as long or as tedious.

Finally, even the guests grew restless, clamoring to see the couple to their marriage bed. A few raucously called for a bedding ceremony, even though Jaime had made it known there would be none. He hoped Brienne hadn’t heard the whispers of why it might be for the best, not stripping the bride; he itched to backhand any who would speak an unkind word about his Brienne.

Flinching from the touch of strangers as they were escorted to their chambers, Brienne kept her eyes on her slippered feet, dread etched in the lines about her mouth and in the way her shoulders hunched. The sound of the door being pulled shut behind them was loud enough to make them both jump.

Jaime had thought about this moment. Dreaded it. He led Brienne to the bed and urged her to sit upon the white coverlet. She was trembling, as was he. He got onto his knees before her and when he looked up and met her eyes he almost faltered, the words he needed her to hear difficult and unwelcome.

“I know that you did not want this, Brienne. You have been… _forced_ into this marriage.” Jaime took a deep breath and rested his hand upon her knee. “But I will not force you to do anything else you do not wish to, ever. But like it or not, we are husband and wife, Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock.”

Brienne nodded once. “So we are, Jaime. I will be a dutiful wife to you, Ser.” Her voice was thin and small, little more than a whisper.

“Duty. Yes, I wanted to speak to you of duty. I don’t want it of you Brienne.” He felt her tense beneath his hand and rushed on, “You can remain a maid; no one will know. Let them believe that you’ve been my whore all along, that you’ve never borne me a child because you’re barren.”

“I…” Brienne struggled to speak, “We…you do not want me in your bed. I know.” She closed her eyes, and Jaime felt her body slacken like a bowstring after the arrow has flown. 

“Brienne. Oh, Brienne. I would not burden you. I will not use you, just to satisfy my own needs.”

“What of an heir for Casterly?”

“I love you, Brienne. Your happiness means more to me than an heir. If you want children, then of course – _of course_ you shall have them.  Otherwise, let some Lannister cousin have Casterly after we’re gone.”

“You will not bed me.” She might have been telling him it was not like to rain, or that her horse had thrown a shoe, for all the inflection in her voice.

“I will not. Until and unless you want me to.”

“So you would do your duty, but you do not expect me to do mine.”

Unable to bear the look in her eyes, Jaime laid his forehead down upon her lap. “My lady, how could I ever see bedding you as nothing more than duty? I have wanted you, lusted after you, for even longer than I have been in love with you.” Jaime could not see her face, but her silence was enough to tell him what he needed to know. Brienne rested her hand on his head, and then tentatively slid her fingers through his hair. “There is a chamber adjoining this one. I will sleep there, if you wish it,” he said.

Her fingers in his hair felt too good, too intimate. His eyes were beginning to burn, but he would not let his new bride see his despair. He got to his feet and turned away to retreat to the chamber he’d hoped wouldn’t be needed.

“Jaime?”

He kept his back to her. “My lady?”

“I love you, too.” She got up as he turned toward her. “Don’t leave.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated! Thanks for traveling the prompt highway. We now return you to your normally scheduled fics.


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